


Five years on

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Past minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 09:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7971322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the end of Season 3, ep 10. Athos's life had changed yet again</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five years on

Olivier d’Athos buried his wife on a cold spring day in the year of our Lord, 1641. Most of the village attended the funeral Mass and interment, but Athos could not later recalled who had come or what had been said. He remembered the sound of clods of earth hitting the coffin, the intoning of the Latin prayers by Father Martin, and Sophie’s quiet sobs muffled against the skirts of Madame Bertrand.

And he remembered the wet snow that made everyone rush away afterwards, for fear of sharing Madame d’Athos’s fate, though it was not the cold that had killed her.

Madame Bertrand brought Sophie back to the silent cottage, where she and other kind people had left bread and food for the widower and his five-year-old daughter. “What will you do now?” she asked as Athos stared out of the kitchen window, back towards the church and the graveyard.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“The child will need a mother, and you a wife, if you are to stay. The widow Bazin—”

He turned and fixed her with his coldest look. “I need no other wife.” Sophie, sensing the tension between the adults, quietly left Madame Bertrand’s side and went to cling to her father’s leg. Athos laid a hand on her head. “And I can care for my daughter.”

“How? What do you know of running a household, _monsieur_? And what of the school?”

He had no answer. How could she talk of a school, a household, when Sylvie was dead, their son dead and unnamed in the same coffin? “I thank you for your help, madame. But I must bid you good day.”

Most likely, only her friendship for Sylvie prevented the woman spitting in his eye. She picked up her skirts and left, walking back down the muddy street to her own house.

“Papa, I’m hungry.”

Athos knelt and took Sophie into his arms. “I’ll give you some lunch.”

“Will Maman come home soon?”

“No, _ma petite_. She’s not coming home.”

Her dark eyes, just like her mother’s, looked at him with trust and sadness. “All right, Papa.”

He fed her some of the pie the village women had left for him, though he had no appetite himself. Madame Bertrand was right of course. To run a house and a school on his own, even with the help of young Yvette from Ricard’s farm from time to time, would be nigh impossible. He _could_ remarry. God knows there were always widows, and even unmarried women who might not turn their nose up at an educated forty-year-old man with a young child. The idea revolted him. To marry for necessity and not for love went against his soul and what he and Sylvie had had together. Even Anne....

He had married Anne for love. He had taken Sylvie to live with him as his wife for love. How could he now turn to a woman he did not know or care for, offer her his bed and home just to provide a mother for his child?

He put off a decision for as long as he could. The little school he and Sylvie had opened when they’d arrived in this village, remained closed for a month, while he did his best to look after his daughter and hide the worst violence of his grief from her. The generosity of the neighbours dwindled as it had to, because they had their own to look after, but he still had some coin left to buy provisions, and enough skill to do the necessary chores to keep the two of them alive. But it was a joyless and lonely battle, which even Sophie’s open heart could not remedy. The child needed more, but Athos was not up to the task, and never would be.

A letter arrived at the end of that month, and the sight of d’Artagnan’s well-loved handwriting brought painful tears to his eyes even before he broke the seal. Since d’Artagnan knew nothing of Athos’s bereavement, the letter was the usual mix of news and good wishes, gossip from Aramis, the latest from Porthos, and how d’Artagnan’s two adopted children were thriving. Reading it left Athos with such an overpowering, renewed sense of loss, of desperate homesickness, that he actually retched from the pain of it, and Sophie came running to find out what was wrong with him.

He clutched her to his chest. “Nothing’s wrong, _cherie_.”

“Why are you crying then, Papa?”

“Because I miss my friends.”

“Like I miss Maman?”

“Yes, like that.”

“When will we see your friends?”

“Soon, Sophie.” And with that, his decision was made.

He closed the school for good, and told his landlord he was leaving. The farmer agreed to forego the rest of the rent for that year since it had so recently begun, and Athos left him the contents of the house that he could not take with him as compensation, save for a chest of personal items he would send for later. He still had about half of the money the Queen had given him in gratitude, as well as the proceeds from selling their two horses once he and Sylvie had settled. With some of those proceeds he now purchased Pierre, a twelve year old gelding, a solid cart horse of no particular breeding but good legs and a placid nature. He loaded Pierre with their clothes, bedrolls, cooking receptacles, his arquebus, and his books. His weapons he wore at his side, of course. Then he and Sophie left the only home she had ever known, and set off for Paris.

Six weeks after receiving d’Artagnan’s letter, he rode Pierre into the garrison. For the first time since Sylvie’s death, he felt he was at home.

****************************

Luc Brujon spotted him first, and ran up to take Pierre’s rein. “Captain! What are you doing here?”

“Just Athos, lieutenant. I’m here to visit d’Artagnan. Is he around?”

“Yes, sir. In his office. Madame d’Artagnan is around too. Er....” The lad looked up at Athos’s daughter.

“Sophie, this is Lieutenant Brujon. Brujon, my daughter, Sophie.”

“Pleased to meet you, _mademoiselle_ ,” Brujon said, giving Sophie a little bow. “Madame d’Athos?”

“Is...deceased.”

The young man’s face screwed up in sympathy. “My condolences, sir.”

“Thank you,” Athos said, managing to keep his expression calm. “I wonder if I could trouble you to take the horse to the stables while I find the captain?”

“Of course. Will you be quartered here?”

“That’s what I need to ask.” He lifted Sophie down. “Come, daughter. I want you to meet my friends.”

This wasn’t _his_ garrison, of course, though it stood on the same spot. This one was made of stone, and larger. But the captain still had a balcony to survey the troops, and misbehaving musketeers still had to climb the steps in full view of their fascinated brothers, before facing the wrath of their senior officer.

Athos did not expect wrath, but since he’d arrived without warning, he wasn’t entirely sure what reception awaited him.

He opened the door. “Knock first,” a familiar voice said in a tone which indicated he’d said it hundreds of times without any effect.

“Sorry. I left my manners in Gascony.”

D’Artagnan looked up. “Athos!” He ran from behind the desk in a manner reminiscent of his gangly youth rather than the seasoned officer and family man he was now, and swept Athos up into a tight embrace. “What are you doing here?” He stepped back. “Is this Sophie?” He knelt and held out his hand. “I’m Charles. Hello.”

“Hello, _monsieur_ ,” Sophie said politely, though she clung to Athos’s leg.

“Where’s Sylvie? My God, Constance will be beside herself, Athos.”

“Sylvie is dead, d’Artagnan.”

D’Artagnan stood and took Athos’s hand. “I am so sorry. When?”

“Nearly three months ago. In childbirth.”

“Three months? You didn’t write. Why are you here? Are you staying? Please say you’re staying.”

Athos held up his hand. “I came because...I have no other home. And I had need of one.”

D’Artagnan touched his shoulder. “Then you have one. Constance is back at our house, I think. Where is your horse? Have you eaten?” He knelt again to look at Sophie. “Mademoiselle Sophie, would you like to meet our children? One is nearly your age. She’s called Clara.”

“Answer Charles,” Athos said, nudging her gently.

“Yes, _monsieur_.”

“Excellent! You’re staying with us,” d’Artagnan said, and even if Athos were inclined to argue, which he was not, it was clear there would be no argument permitted. “I’ll have your stuff brought to our house. I can’t believe you’re here.”

A pain that had sat like a stone in his belly ever since Sylvie’s death, now eased. It was not the pain of losing her, for that, Athos never expected to leave him. It was the pain of being adrift, hopeless and alone, as he had been after...after Thomas had died. Now he was where he needed to be, and his child was safe.

He lifted Sophie up. “Lead the way, captain.”

D’Artagnan gave orders for Athos’s horse to be stabled at the garrison, and his gear brought along to the d’Artagnans’ house. “We expect Porthos within the month,” he said, as they walked along. “Elodie is pregnant again, and he promised to be back for the birth.”

“I hope she’ll be delivered safely,” Athos said, keeping his voice even.

D’Artagnan stopped. “I didn’t even ask—how did Sylvie die?”

“Her pregnancy did not go well. She began to swell in her hands and face, and had pain in her chest. When she started having convulsions, the goodwife said she had to deliver the child, or both would die. But it was too late, and we lost the two of them.”

“A terrible loss of a wonderful and brave woman.”

“And our son,” Athos added. His eyes filled without him being able to do a damn thing about it. “Though without a mother, what chance did he have anyway?”

D’Artagnan patted his shoulder, then smiled up at Sophie. “At least you have this beautiful child.”

“Yes, I do.”

D’Artagnan’s children, Alexandre and Clara, were outside as Athos and d’Artagnan entered the yard. “Papa!” Clara yelled when she spotted him. She ran to him and he swept her up. “Hello, _cherie_ ,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Look, I’ve brought you new friends.”

The two little girls regarded each other. “This is Sophie,” d’Artagnan said. “Sophie, this is my daughter, Clara.”

Clara reached her hand to Sophie’s dark curls. “Like ‘Andre.”

“Yes, just like Alexandre. Come inside so Maman can meet them. Alexandre? Come to Papa.”

The little boy, only two, toddled over and demanded to be picked up, so d’Artagnan had to put down his daughter and pick up his son. The child’s skin was darker than even Sylvie’s had been, and would be a handsome boy, Athos could already tell.

“This is Athos and Sophie,” d’Artagnan said, but the boy buried his face in his father’s shirt and refused to look. “Sorry, he’s going through a shy phase. Come inside. Constance! I have a surprise for you!”

“Charles d’Artagnan do you have to oh my goodness! Athos!” Constance flew at him and wrapped Athos and Sophie both into her arms. “This is Sophie? She looks just like you and Sylvie. Where is—” She covered her mouth. “Oh no.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Athos set Sophie down, took Constance’s hand and bent to kiss it. “It has been too long. Much too long.”

“Yes, it has. Tell me you’re staying.”

“I’m staying in Paris, as is Sophie. Just where, remains to be decided.”

“Here,” she said, pursing her lips. “Where else?”

“I meant, in the long term.”

“Constance, their things will be along shortly. I’m sure they’re tired and hungry and need a wash. Is the guest room ready?”

“Of course it is. You don’t need to organise me, d’Artagnan. You can barely organise yourself.”

Athos smiled for the first time in many weeks. “Nothing’s changed then.”

“Everything has changed,” she said. She knelt down in front of Sophie. “Darling, my name is Constance. I was your mother’s friend, as well as your father’s.”

“Maman is dead,” Sophie said.

Constance stroked her hair. “Yes, I know, love. Would you like to see your new room? You can share with Clara. Clara, come with me to show Sophie your room.”

“Maman me too!” Alexandre shouted.

Constance picked him up. “Yes, you too, noisy.” She led the children upstairs, leaving d’Artagnan and Athos alone.

“Let me take your cloak. Your room’s upstairs if you want to have some rest before we eat.”

“I’m all right. Your children look well. You all look well.”

“We’ve been lucky. We know of too many families affected by _la grippe_ and other diseases. We’ve even been talking of adopting another child. There are so many children and not enough adults to care for them.”

“The two you saved are the most fortunate children in Paris.”

“And we’re the most fortunate parents to have them,” d’Artagnan said, smiling towards the stairs. “Marie! We have visitors.”

A young girl appeared, curtseying as she saw Athos. “M’sieur?”

“Bread, cheese and some wine, please.”

“Yes, _monsieur_.” She fled.

“Come and sit.” D’Artagnan led him to a little dining room and pointed at a chair. He took another for himself. “You haven’t changed at all in five years, Athos.”

“You never used to lie so easily,” Athos said, smiling. “You on the other hand, have changed greatly. Do I see grey hairs?”

D’Artagnan patted the thinning patch on his scalp with a rueful grin. He wore it shorter these days. “You do. What’s left of my hair, you mean.”

“I’m sure Constance considers it distinguished.”

“I’m sure she’ll never finish teasing me, you mean. Have you seen Aramis yet? No, of course not. He’ll be delighted.”

“He’s well?”

“Have you never known him not to be? He’s as content as he can be in his situation.”

“Of which we will not speak,” Athos said.

“No, we won’t. God, Athos,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his head. “I think of you daily, miss you just as often. And now you’re really here. What do you plan to do? Set up another school?”

“No. I can’t...I don’t think I could do it without her.”

“I understand. So you want your old job back then?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said at d’Artagnan’s grin. “Who would want an old wreck like me anyway?”

“Me, for one, Athos. You still have your commission, and God knows we could do with your skill to train our cadets, if nothing else. Please consider it, if you have no better option.”

“I will, but it rather depends on whether her majesty wants me back.”

“You need not worry on that score, my friend. The queen had bent my ear more than enough times on the subject of you for me to be sure of it.”

“Fantasy versus reality, d’Artagnan. I am forty, nearly forty-one, and haven’t lifted a sword in years.”

“And I bet you can still take me.”

“I wouldn't take that bet.”

Marie brought in a tray with food and drink, and Athos only waited out of politeness for her to withdraw and d’Artagnan to invite him to eat, before he fell on the meal. “You must be starving,” d’Artagnan said.

“The food at the inns between here and Gascony is indifferent, as you well know. And I had to conserve my coin in case of unforeseen circumstances.”

“Not like the old days, then.” When a Musketeer’s uniform and Porthos’s bulk virtually ensured the best food in any establishment would be theirs for the asking.

“Nothing is, d’Artagnan.”

D’Artagnan nodded, his expressions sombre. “I’ll have a message sent to the palace, asking for an audience with the queen and Aramis. I’ll go with you.”

“No, you have a role here, and I won’t have you disturbing it for me. I hardly need an escort,” he added, raising an eyebrow.

“No, you don’t. I’m just worried Aramis won’t let you leave.”

Constance returned a few minutes later. “I undressed her and let her lie down, and when I turned around, she was asleep, poor little lamb. That’s a long journey for a child, Athos.”

“My apologies, madame. I could hardly leave her behind.”

She smacked his hand. “Don’t be an idiot. I know you had no choice. I assume you had no choice, at least. No one could take her?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

She frowned at him but clearly decided not to ask any more about it. Which was as well as his feelings and reasons were confused and tangled. It had been one of his rare, impulsive decisions, and for a change, not a disaster of one.

When he asked where the other two children were, he learned that the d’Artagnans had two servants apart from Marie—Paul, a veteran who acted as a general assistant, and Arlette, another refugee from the war who was their nanny—and both were upstairs entertaining the d’Artagnan children. Though Constance and d’Artagnan were undoubtedly genuinely busy people with their duties at the garrison, the employment of so many servants for such a small household was at least partly charitable, which Athos noted.

“There are so many people needing help,” Constance said with a sigh.

“And here I am also, cap in hand,” Athos said.

“Nonsense. If you had stayed anywhere else I would be offended.”

“And you don’t want to do that,” d’Artagnan said to him behind his hand. “Ouch,” he said, rubbing his ankle.

“Stop making me into your harridan, d’Artagnan. It ceased to be funny years ago.”

“Sorry, love.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ve asked Athos to join us at the garrison if he has no better offer.”

“Oh, please do accept,” she said. “We need more recruits, but we have too few seasoned officers to train them. When Luc Brujon is the most senior musketeer next to d’Artagnan, that tells you how desperate we are.”

“Not that Brujon isn’t a fine fellow,” d’Artagnan hastened to add. “But he’s but a lad.”

Athos smirked. “And we can’t have lads coming up through the ranks dreaming they could be captain one day. What an appalling precedent that would set.”

D’Artagnan made a face while Constance giggled. “Yes, yes. But my point—our point—remains.”

“I have a child now, d’Artagnan. I can’t just leave her to go to war again.”

“You don’t have to. Her majesty needs us in Paris. And Paris grows ever larger while the musketeer ranks struggle to keep up. You’re worth five men to me.”

“Only five?”

“Ten,” he amended quickly. “Twenty, at least.”

“Oh, at least,” Athos agreed dryly. “Have our possessions arrived? I hate to be unsociable, but I’m exhausted and filthy. I could do with a bathhouse.”

“No need, we have a bath of our own.”

“You do live very well, don’t you?”

D’Artagnan flushed. “Don’t tease him,” Constance said. “He works damn hard. We both do.”

Athos bowed his head. “I would never imply otherwise.”

“Then be nice and let me organise bathwater for you.”

Half an hour later, d’Artagnan showed Athos into a room at the back of the house next to the laundry, where steaming water sat in a large tub. “We have soap and oil, whichever your wish.”

“Both,” Athos said, feeling decadent, and guilty that he had never provided such luxury for Sylvie, though she would have mocked him heartily for the sentiment.

He undressed and entered the bath, d’Artagnan remaining to chat as he soaked. “Will you never return to Gascony?”

“I doubt it. There’s nothing there for me, now Sylvie has gone. She wanted our children to have opportunities, and there’s nothing there for a girl child. She wanted Sophie to have an education, a life outside having children and running a household.”

“Like Constance.”

“Exactly so.” Sylvie had dreamt of setting up a printing press one day, though they would have had to leave the village to do that. “And for all her charm and sweetness, she was never completely accepted by the people there.”

“On account of her skin?”

“Yes. Sophie will face the same. It’s easier in a city.”

“For some it is. For those who have enough talent to overcome the prejudice.”

“My daughter can look to Porthos for inspiration. And you.”

“You know we worried when we took Alexandre, but his skin wasn’t enough reason to refuse him, and I’m glad we did not. When Elodie has another child, there will be a third amongst us to help push the barriers down.”

If she survived, Athos didn’t say. He sunk down into the water, melancholy overcoming him again. He heard d’Artagnan leave the room, but he didn’t get out of the bath. The heat was doing a good job at unravelling weeks’ worth of knots in his muscles from the long journey, and months of tension and misery.

“You need a shave.”

Athos managed to sit up with dignity, and not splash in surprise. “Constance, you shouldn’t be in here.”

She smirked at him. “I’ve seen more naked men than you’ve had hot dinners, Athos. D’Artagnan’s right—you need a shave, and I plan to give it to you before you disgrace us all at the palace.”

He sighed, secretly pleased. “Of course.”

She bid him rub oil into his beard, while she sharpened the blade. First she trimmed the bush down with scissors, then made him lean back so she could scrap the worst away. “I shave d’Artagnan like this.”

“He’s your _husband_.”

“And?”

“Nothing,” he said, knowing better than to provoke a fiery woman with a sharp edge at his throat. She did the job with professional swiftness, then wiped his face. “Your hair is a disgrace too.”

“Sylvie used to cut it for me.”

“Oh.” She laid a gentle hand on the mop of his ‘disgrace’. “At least let me wash it and then we can tie it up or something tomorrow.”

“The queen knows what I am, Constance.”

“It’s just respectful, Athos. I want you to make a good impression.”

“On _Aramis_?”

Her grin made her dimple attractively. “ _Especially_ on Aramis.”

She left him in peace to dry off and dress in clean small clothes. She had left him a robe to wear, rather than forcing him to dress just to climb the stairs to the guest room, a small, neat chamber on the second storey. He peeked into the nursery and found all three children asleep, curled around each other in one bed. The sight made him think of his lost son, and Sylvie, and the pain in his chest tightened again.

He took himself to his room, blew out the candle and let the tears flow that he could not reveal in front of his friends. He didn’t expect the pain to ever leave him. Unlike his first wife, there was no chance Sylvie would suddenly reveal herself to be alive. Unlike his first wife, the pain was not tempered in any way by knowing she had been a murderer. Sylvie had been good and honest, brave and intelligent, a good mother and a loving wife, so of course her reward was to die in agony. Anne had killed and stolen and lied and was probably living in the lap of luxury as the wife or mistress of some rich man somewhere.

This was God’s mercy, apparently.

Even his grief could not keep him awake after so many weeks riding, walking, and sleeping on bad beds, eating bad food, and trying to keep his daughter alive and well. Athos slept like a dead man, and when he woke, the sun was high in the sky.

 _Sophie_. He leapt out of bed in panic, before remembering Arlette, and that his child, like he, was in good hands. He still dressed hastily and went downstairs. Sophie was nowhere to be seen. “Marie? Constance?”

The maid came out of the kitchen and curtseyed. “Beg pardon, _monsieur_. Madame is at the garrison.”

“My daughter?”

“In the garden, _monsieur_. Digging vegetables and helping Paul.”

He grunted, imagining what the ‘help’ would be like. “Is there anything to eat?”

“Oh yes, _monsieur_. Also, there is a note for you, and a carriage from the palace awaiting your pleasure.”

“What?” She handed him the note. _Aramis_. He tore it open. “Her majesty and her first minister would be pleased to see the famed Captain Athos as soon as he can stir his corn-fed behind and get here. Bring Sophie. By order, Aramis d’Herblay, ever your friend.”

Athos smiled. He had missed Aramis like a knife in the heart. He had missed them all. It came close to the pain of Sylvie’s loss. “Some bread and cheese please, _mademoiselle_? I’ll fetch my daughter and she’ll need tidying, if Arlette is around.”

“Yes, _monsieur_.” She bobbed again, and went back to the kitchen.

Athos went to the back of the house, where the kitchen garden must lay. “Sophie?”

“Papa! Look, they have onions!”

She ran to him clutching her treasure. He knelt to greet her and inspect the vegetables. “They’re very fine, _ma petite_. But you must come. My friend at the palace has sent a carriage.”

“Yes, I saw it. Clara wants to come with us. Can she, Papa?”

“Er, not this morning, pet. Perhaps once we have visited my friend and met the queen.”

“What’s a queen?”

“A very kind and beautiful woman who rules the country. She’s a very good friend of mine too. Now you must wash your face and hands. Take the onions to the kitchen, please.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Paul hobbled over as Sophie ran inside. “Pardon, _monsieur_. I thought only to keep her occupied.”

“I’m grateful. Please feel free to do so. Where are the other children?”

“Clara is here somewhere. By the gooseberries, there. Alexandre is upstairs, with Arlette.”

“Thank you. Which regiment were you with?”

“That of the Duc de Coligny, _monsieur_. I was a sergeant.”

“You were with him at Les Avins?”

“I was, _monsieur_ , and long afterwards, until I took a musketball to my thigh. You were a musketeer?”

“I was. I may still be, technically.”

“Then I am glad to see you, _monsieur_. Paris has need of its defenders.”

“It always did, sergeant.”

The man bowed, and went back to find Clara. Before Athos could ask where Sophie was, she appeared with Marie in tow. “I’m clean, Papa!”

“Well done.” Athos took a piece of bread from the tray in Marie’s hand, and bolted it down along with a slice of cheese. That would have to do, he thought, dusting his hands. “Be kind enough to let Madame d’Artagnan know we have gone to the palace, please? I don’t know when we’ll return.”

“Yes, _monsieur_.”

Sophie was beside herself at the beautiful carriage that Aramis—or possible the queen herself—had sent for them. Athos lifted her inside and rapped on the ceiling to give the driver the signal to move on. “Does the queen have many carriages, Papa?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Maybe she would let us borrow one? Then Clara could ride in it too.”

“You never know,” he said, smiling at her excitement. If they were visiting any other monarch, he might be worried about Sophie’s open and enquiring manner, but he had no qualms. Unless the queen had become a very different woman, she would understand and not be offended. Aramis certainly would not give a damn.

He had been so tired the evening before that he had paid little attention to Paris. Now he had a chance to look properly, he didn’t care for what he saw. The city was more crowded, more chaotic than ever. Poverty was everywhere, beggars on every street. The war was going badly for Spain, but in France, the common people were paying for every advance, every soldier’s weapon with heavier and heavier taxes. While Athos had fought as ordered and done his duty to the best of his ability, he could not see how France benefited at all from a war that had gone on for ten years already, with no sign of it ever ending.

The carriage drew up to the mews, and a boy was sent with a message to Aramis to announce their arrival. Athos and Sophie were expected, and led to a waiting room, where they were served cordial and little sweetmeats. Sophie was too overwhelmed by the lavish surroundings to talk, a first in Athos’s experience. She touched the pretty food. “Can we eat this, Papa?”

“I think we’re expected to.”

“Did the queen make them?”

“I suspect not, actually.” He doubted her majesty’s culinary abilities had progressed beyond burnt fish in the last ten years. “Try one.”

She gave a pink one a lick. “So sweet,” she said, putting it down and making a face. Athos put the rejected item in his pocket, to dispose of discreetly later.

“Athos.”

He turned, and bowed. “Your majesty. Minister,” he added, spotting Aramis behind the queen.

She held out her hands. “I am so pleased to see you again, my dear friend. Though the circumstaces do not give me pleasure.”

“Nor I, your majesty. May I introduce my daughter, Sophie. Sophie, this is her majesty, Queen Anne. You should curtsey, _ma petite_.”

She did, rather sketchily, then stared up at the queen. “You’re right. She’s very beautiful.”

The queen smiled, and Aramis hid a grin. “I never lie, Sophie,” Athos said calmly. “Minister, it’s good to see you.”

Aramis went up and hugged him. “Athos, I’m so sorry about Sylvie.”

“As am I,” he said, letting Aramis’s warmth comfort him.

“We should go to the garden,” the queen said. “His majesty is out there with his governess.”

“She means the king, her son,” Aramis whispered to Sophie. “He’s now eleven.”

“A boy?” Sophie said to him.

“A boy who is king and a king who is a boy. Would you take my hand, _mademoiselle_?” Aramis held out his hand, and took charge of her.

Athos was beckoned to the queen’s side. “I have thought of you often,” she said as they made their way to the garden. “Almost as often as my minister.”

“I’m grateful, your majesty, though you surely have many things to take up your attention.”

“Many, many things. Among them the education of the king in sword and musket.”

“Surely your minister, Aramis, is full capable of tutoring your son, majesty?”

“Yes, of course, but his position is far from ceremonial.”

He bowed his head in apology. “For certain, majesty.”

The weather was warm, the sun bright, and the queen took them to a shaded area which Athos remembered as one of her favourite places while her husband had been alive. “I won’t summon the king to me just yet. I’ll let you catch your breath. Sophie, what do you think of Paris?”

Sophie looked at Athos for advice. “Just tell her majesty what you’ve seen, darling.”

“I like the carriage. And the onions.”

The queen laughed. “One must not forget the onions, must we, Aramis?”

“No indeed, majesty. They’re healthful and useful, Sophie, the core of our fine French cooking.”

Athos rolled his eyes at his friend flirting with both female companions at the same time, apparently without effort. Aramis had hardly changed, if one discounted the lavish clothing. His hair was a little tidier, a little shorter with more grey, and his beard was much more flecked with white. But he was still lean, clear-eyed, and ready with a charming smile and the right word to soothe a nervous child or a flighty noblewoman.

The queen and Sophie talked easily, and since Sophie had never learned to be nervous of royalty, she had no reason to fear the regent. “Perhaps you and I could leave the ladies to their discussion,” Aramis said, and received a nod from the queen. “We could find the king, and reacquaint him with his saviour.”

“Of which I was only one,” Athos murmured as they bowed to the queen, and walked away

“He still talks of that day, you know. About the horse, and playing hide and seek, and the giant who took him away on his huge horse. Porthos made quite the impression. Still does, of course.”

“I’m sure.” It was not a day on which Athos liked to dwell, since it marked the death not only of the previous king, but their old, much missed captain, Treville. “How are you, old friend? Life at the palace seems to suit you.” Aramis’s letters had been frequent and cheerful, but he was an old hand at lying to protect his friends from the truth. Athos was glad to see that there had apparently been no lies concerning his happiness.

“It does, and yet I sometimes long for the old days. Then again, I sometimes long for the monastery, and you can imagine how that would suit me now.”

“That is, not at all. And you and the queen?” Athos asked in a low voice, though there was no one close to them.

“We get on very well. Her son is a fine young man, and will make a splendid king.”

“Are you really looking for a sword tutor, or is this some excuse to keep me here in Paris. Because you need not invent one, you know.”

“No, we really would like one, and you are the best, Athos.” His expression was guileless, and Athos decided Aramis was telling the truth on this score.

“Not any more.”

“I doubt that, though I shan’t put you to the test on it today. You mean to stay then? You would be welcome here at the palace in any capacity. Even on the council. Her majesty always needs people she can trust without condition, and you are in that very small group.”

“And Sophie?”

“She could live here too, and receive the same education as any of the palace children. The queen believes in women being taught everything they have the capacity to understand, and to have the best opportunities.”

“Just like Sylvie did.”

Aramis put his hand on Athos’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“A common complication, I’m told. Swelling, convulsions, severe headaches. Purges were of no use, and the goodwife said the only cure was to deliver the child, but Sylvie died before the child was born. Dead. A boy.”

Aramis’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “It’s a dangerous time for a woman, no doubt, and we lose too many. I will pray for her.”

“If you wish. I don’t believe there’s any point, myself.”

Aramis sighed. “You probably don’t, in the circumstances, nor do I blame you.” Athos looked at the ground, unable to answer with necessary calmness. “You’re staying with d’Artagnan?”

“Yes. He’s already tried to persuade me to train his cadets. Five years as a school master, and yet all anyone wants of me is my sword. Again.”

“Athos, you are a very fine schoolmaster, I have no doubt, but as a swordsman, you are a god among men.”

“I’m a man nearing old age, out of practice, and lacking the fire in my belly that makes a man fight. I’d lost the taste for it even before we left Paris.”

Aramis’s smile disappeared. “So you lied to d’Artagnan. You never intended to return.”

“I had no intention of taking up the captaincy again. Not the same thing. It was always likely that Sylvie and I would have moved somewhere with better opportunities for our children. Paris seemed a likely destination. Just...not so soon.”

“But now you’re here. Consider the offer, Athos. She needs you, and I do too.”

“You would _like_ me here, Aramis. I don’t belong in this world.”

“Neither did I. You were born to this much more than I was.”

“I walked away from that life, and I have no intention of letting you or the queen drag me back. But,” he said, holding up a hand to stop Aramis’s objection, “your offer is attractive, not least for Sophie. I’ll consider it carefully. Give me a few days, though. Sophie needs time to adjust, and she sorely misses her mother.”

“I’m sure you both do, and always will. Take as much time as you want, my friend. You’re worth the wait. Now, let’s find the king.”

Athos looked back at the queen and Sophie. Two ladies in waiting had joined them, so he relaxed. Sophie would not be occupying all her majesty’s time then.

The boy king was also sitting under a shady tree, but reading a book, while a severe looking man stood watching. His tutor no doubt. “Your majesty, Monsieur Gagnier,” Aramis said, greeting the two of them.

The boy looked up. “Who have you brought to see me, Aramis?”

“Majesty, this is Athos, one of the men who saved your life many years ago.”

Athos bowed. “Your majesty.”

“I rode your horse.”

“Yes, sire, you did.” Quite a feat of memory, since the boy had only been six.

“We are very grateful, my mother and I. Have you come to Paris as a musketeer, Monsieur Athos?”

“I have come to serve in what capacity I may do so, majesty.”

“Sire, Athos is the finest swordsman in Europe, and I have suggested that he might offer his services to you as a tutor in the sword, as well as the pistol.”

“I would like that.” The boy stood. His resemblance to Aramis was unmistakeable to those looking for it, but the late king had been of similar colouring, so no suspicion necessarily followed. “You will show me your skill now, _monsieur_.”

Athos bowed again. “Majesty, please forgive me. My weapons are elsewhere, and I am sorely out of practice.”

“Nonsense. If you are truly the best, then you can fight even without preparation. Aramis, have weapons brought for us.”

Aramis bowed. “Sire, what about your lesson?”

The boy looked at his tutor. “Oh. Then another time, _monsieur_. Soon. I order it thus.”

“I will be delighted to obey, sire,” Athos said.

“Her majesty is outside too, majesty. Over by those trees, with Athos’s daughter.”

“A girl? I have no interest in a girl child. Tell Maman I will come to her after my lesson.”

“Majesty.”

Aramis and Athos made their retreat. “Takes after his father,” Athos muttered. “The other one.”

“He was nervous, and wanted to show you that he was not. Bring your sword next time, and he’ll give you a genuine contest.”

“He’s eleven, Aramis. I do not fight children in earnest.”

“He’ll know if you’re letting him win, I warn you. He wants no cheap victories.”

“We’ll see.”

“Are you staying for lunch? We assumed you would. Please, we have so much to talk about.”

Athos readily agreed since he had no other obligations, and Sophie was happy with her new friends. The queen could not remain with them just then, but would join them for the meal, and Aramis too excused himself. “One hour,” he said. “Tell any of the servants you are expected for lunch with her majesty. They’ll bring you. Until then, enjoy the gardens.”

“Thank you.” Athos took a seat with his daughter. “Did you have a nice talk with the queen?”

“Yes, Papa. She’s very nice. Did Maman know her?”

“Yes, she did, just like Constance and d’Artagnan did.”

“Why did you leave your friends, Papa?”

“Sometimes I don’t remember at all, Sophie. Shall we go for a walk?”

All this was very strange to his child, of course. Fields of grass with no horses or sheep, flowers grown for enjoyment and not as herbs, well dressed people strolling at leisure instead of hard at work in the fields or dairy or bakery or blacksmith’s shop. Her own father with nothing better to do than to walk with her aimlessly, instead of at the schoolroom, or helping her mother.

Suddenly Athos wondered if this was the example he wanted to set for his daughter. He had left a life of privilege and ease fifteen years ago, and never wanted it back. Sylvie had worked tirelessly all her days, never idle, never wasting a moment. And yet here he was contemplating working as a teacher to a pampered boy king in skills he would never have to use, merely because the child wanted something to do.

On the other hand, Sophie would have opportunities here that few female commoners could aspire to.

He kept his thoughts to himself over the lunch, which was simpler than many he’d seen at the palace and yet more sumptuous than any sensible person could wish for. At least the queen understood that Sophie’s needs were far more simple than the adults, and she was given fruit and meat and good bread in quantities that a child could manage. What Sylvie would have made of their daughter sitting down to a meal with the Queen and her son, the king, and the first minister of France, Athos couldn’t imagine. She would either have been highly amused, or highly scandalised.

He wished so much he could ask her.

The boy king ignored Sophie in favour of Athos, and quizzed him relentlessly about the exploits of the musketeers, something Athos thought Aramis would have supplied in good measure. But it seemed his friend had been rather close-mouthed about his past as a soldier, and d’Artagnan had supplied more stories than Aramis. Athos was not used to talking about such matters, even back in his days on active service, so it fell to Aramis to keep the conversation going, while at the same time, leaving his role out of many of the events being described.

Athos took him aside once the queen and her son had removed themselves. “The king doesn’t know you were a musketeer?”

“He knows. We...just don’t talk about it much. I don’t fit his idea of what a soldier looks like.”

“Too bad he clearly can’t remember Treville.” And a shame too, since their captain had literally given his life to save the new king.

“Ah, he knows of him. The queen is assiduous on that point. And Porthos talks of him often. I think Porthos is much more what his majesty imagines an effective warrior to be like.”

“There is none better,” Athos allowed. “When did young Brujon leave the front?”

“A year after you left. He was injured and returned to Paris, and Porthos declared he could do more good here than at the front. I think our friend worried for his safety. We had lost so many youngsters, and Brujon has always put Porthos in mind of d’Artagnan.”

“He can’t be selective in whom he protects.”

“He’s not. He’s just good at knowing where a man’s strengths lie. D’Artagnan needs Brujon as he needs Constance. And he needs you, if you’ll stay.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of the tutor position after all?”

Aramis ran his hand through his hair in a gesture achingly familiar to Athos. “No, no. Just weighing up where your considerable talents could do the most good. Your daughter is a darling.”

“She is her mother all over again. Sophie, _ma petite_ , we must go.” She came over from where a lady’s maid had been entertaining her with some pretty beads on a string.

“I’ll have the carriage take you back. Let me walk you to the mews.”

Athos held up a hand. “I know the way. I’m not that feebleminded yet.”

Aramis grinned. “Not at all. Send a message when you’ve decided. But tell d’Artagnan I expect him and Constance to call soon with their children and you both.”

“Too grand to come to the city yourself?”

“Ah, it just causes a fuss. Though I do slip down from time to time out of uniform, so to speak.”

“If I recall that was always your favourite way to travel through the city, at least at night.”

“Hush, you’ll scandalise the child.” Aramis knelt. “Did you enjoy your lunch, Sophie?”

“Yes, I did, thank you. I love the queen very much.”

“As do we all. Now, be good for your Papa and come back soon.”

She gave him a hug, startling him. “I will!”

Athos smiled at the surprise on his face. “Another conquest?”

“So it seems. Don’t let another five years pass before you return, Athos. Don’t let another five _days_ pass.”

Athos bowed in his most courtly fashion. “As you wish, minister,” he said in his driest tone.

Despite his words, Athos found himself momentarily lost before he recalled the quickest way to the mews, and took Sophie in the correct direction. A woman’s voice brought him up short.

“Athos.”

He turned, and felt his heart stutter. “Anne?”

He stood in shock as she walked down the stairs towards him, wearing a sumptuous green dress. She had rarely looked more lovely. “What are you doing back in Paris? Has your refugee woman grown tired of you at last?”

“She’s dead.”

He expected more scorn, not the slight softening of her expression. “And this is your child.”

Not a question. Athos drew Sophie closer. “Yes. What are you doing in the palace?”

“Working. Don’t be surprised. A woman of my talents always find those who have a use for them.”

Athos nodded, while wondering how he could escape her. “We have to go.”

“Where are you staying?”

“None of your business.” He kept walking. Fortunately Anne made no attempt to follow him. He tried to show no sign of how violently his heart beat, or how horrified he was that she was in Paris, and _here_.

“Papa, who was that?”

“No one,” he said to Sophie as he hurried to the mews.

“She’s pretty.”

 _She’s a snake_ , he thought. _God, please keep her away from Sophie._

He left Sophie at d’Artagnan’s house and sent the carriage away, then walked to the garrison. Now with the benefit of being more rested, he comprehended how much bigger the garrison was, stretching back much further than the old one. How many men did they have now? He’d forgotten to ask. There were few people about, perhaps because they were, as they should be, out on the streets.

He climbed the stairs to d’Artagnan’s office, knocked, and entered on d’Artagnan’s command. D’Artagnan and Constance smiled to see him. “Athos, how did it go at the palace?”

Athos sat. Even the captain’s office was bigger than the old one. “Very well. Aramis is happy, her majesty is beautiful, and Sophie adores her already. Aramis asked me to tutor the king in swordsmanship.”

“But?” Constance asked, when he didn’t continue.

“My wife...Anne. I met her as I was leaving. She said she’s working there.”

Husband and wife looked at each other in confusion. Constance spoke. “Milady? She must be lying.”

“Why would she? She was walking about openly, and appeared in no great hurry to leave. You didn’t know?”

“If I did, you think I wouldn’t have warned you?” d’Artagnan said in a fairly good imitation of Athos’s own growl when angered. “Who could she be working for? Not Aramis. Not the queen, surely.”

“Not after her affair with the king,” Constance said.

“Whoever she’s working for, I can’t contemplate a position at the palace which would bring her into contact with Sophie.”

“Then you’re mine,” d’Artagnan said, grinning from ear to ear. “You are, aren’t you?”

“D’Artagnan, you flatter me, but my skills are rusty. And what about Sophie?”

“Oh that’s easy,” Constance said. “Arlette will care for her and when she’s old enough, she can go to the school we set up for the children of musketeers and soldiers. She can learn whatever craft she wishes. Porthos and Elodie have put money into a school for grown women too, mainly widows but also young wives and single girls, to learn from more experienced, older women, so they don’t have to resort to selling their bodies”

Athos grunted in amusement. “And if that’s not a poke in the eye for Belgard’s ghost, I don’t know what is.”

“Exactly. Porthos has been having a wonderful time spending the old bastard’s money on causes that he would have hated. Athos, your daughter will be safe with us. As safe as anyone can be with the war going on.”

“And we need another captain, with so many men now,” d’Artagnan said.

Athos held up a hand. “No. If I return, it’s not as a soldier. I can’t do that to her. If we’re ordered into battle—”

“I already told you, the queen said—”

“ _If_ , I said, then I would have to abandon her. By the time she’s ready to strike out on her own, I’ll be too old to fight. So I’ll help train your boys, but I’ll do so as a civilian. I intend to formally resign my commission.”

“If you wish,” d’Artagnan said. “I want you here in whatever role I can have you.”

“And you can stay with us as long as you want,” Constance said. “Good accommodation is hard to come by.”

Athos bowed his head in thanks. “I’ll try not to be a burden.” Constance rolled her eyes at that.

“Now that’s settled, can I ask you to begin tomorrow?”

“Why not?”

“Do your leathers still fit you?” Constance asked, looking him up and down. “You’ve lost weight.”

“I’ve lost muscle. I told you, I’m rusty. If you think I would be sparring with farm hands and bakers, you’re mad.” Though he had always kept the weapons close at hand. The war sent too many troubled souls through the countryside, and even in the quietest parts of Gascony, raiders and soldiers were a pest at times. Sylvie had always sworn that Sophie would learn sword and pistol, even if she had to teach her daughter herself.

“Porthos will expect you to fight him when he returns in two weeks,” d’Artagnan said.

Athos groaned. “God save me. I don’t suppose there’s any chance he’s slowed down at all.”

“Not a bit.”

“Of course he hasn’t.” Athos stood. “I’ll leave you to get on and return to the house.”

“Walk with me,” Constance said. “I’m going back too.”

Athos took her arm as they walked back. “What did you do with Bonacieux’s house?”

“It burnt down. I was glad in a way, though a family could have used it.”

“I can’t really stay in your house for long, Constance.”

“And why not? We have the space, God knows there are many with much less, and d’Artagnan would consider it a blessing. Just because you grew up in a mansion, doesn’t mean we have to live in one.”

“D’Artagnan grew up on a farm in a large house.”

“I didn’t. Anyway, don’t worry about that for now. I want you where we can see you, and keep you safe.”

He looked down at her. “I wish we had never left,” he said quietly. “She might be still alive.”

“Or not. Too many women have died after the doctors have been to them in childbirth. I don’t trust them.”

“A doctor didn’t kill Sylvie.”

She squeezed his arm. “No, my dear. Sometimes nothing can save them.”

****************************

He dug out the leathers the next morning and put them on. He felt slightly ridiculous in them, but Sophie only wanted to touch the surface of them. “Soft.”

“Yes. They have to be so I can move in them.” But the doublet would be too hot in this weather, even before d’Artagnan sparred with him. He knelt. “I have work now, Sophie. So you will stay here with Arlette and Paul and Marie until Constance or I come home.”

She clung to him. “No, Papa! You have to stay.”

“I can’t, pet. I have to earn a living. I promise I’ll come back this afternoon.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “Really?”

He kissed her forehead. “Yes, really. And in a few days, I can bring you to where I work so you can see what I am doing. Be good now.”

He walked with Constance again, who grumbled about the increasing price of fresh vegetables and fruit, and the taxes. “We spend more on provisions than on pay,” she said.

“Which reminds me, you must take all of mine in exchange for bed and board.”

“Not all, Athos. Sophie will need clothes and shoes, as will you. Don’t worry, I won’t let my children go hungry for your sake.”

As if he’d thought she would. He hadn’t even asked what d’Artagnan planned to pay him. He had to start thinking of such matters now.

D’Artagnan greeted him enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking forward to sparring with you again for five years.”

“Before you humiliate me properly, may I write a quick note to Aramis informing him of my decision? It can go the next time you send something to the palace.”

“Of course.” D’Artagnan provided him with paper and a quill, and Athos quickly made his apologies, and explained his intention to resign his commission. He sealed the note and gave it to d’Artagnan who put it with the other letters to go to the Louvre. “Now I’m yours to command, captain.”

D’Artagnan winced. “That still sounds wrong, coming from you.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“Ah, now I’m going to enjoy roughing you up while you’re out of practice.”

“It’s the only time you’ll be able to,” Athos said in his most deliberately insolent drawl. D’Artagnan just lifted an eyebrow with what was almost certainly justifiable scepticism.

They went down to the practice yard. Because it was still early, a number of cadets were about finishing chores or eating breakfast. A curious crowd soon gathered as they realised their captain was about to fight what they thought to be a total stranger. Athos removed his doublet, and d’Artagnan also chose to fight in his shirt. Constance stood on the balcony to watch.

The one thing Athos had done consistently during his five years of absence was to keep up his morning exercises and form practice, so he knew his stance at least would be acceptable. D’Artagnan, on the other hand, had had ten years of fighting dirty against people who were usually trying to murder him, so stance was less important than beating his opponent. Athos had to get back into that mindset quickly or this would be a swift and brutal embarrassment.

They faced each other, circling around. Athos inhaled, smelled the sweat and the stables and the dust of the yard, and suddenly, it was ten years earlier, preparing d’Artagnan for the challenge to select the king’s champion. Gone were d’Artagnan’s short, grey hairs, and his own infirmities. All that remained was the two of them, master and apprentice, the cynical old man and eager young apprentice. D’Artagnan attacked, Athos parried it easily, not opening up his guard. He noted that d’Artagnan still lunged too far forward, and had a tendency to not mind where his left foot went, so he pushed that weakness, forcing d’Artagnan to parry on his left. But d’Artagnan had learned that trick too, his main gauche twisting up quickly and forcing a retreat.

Around and around they went, back and forth in the heat. Athos felt his strength failing faster than he’d expected, but he’d long ago learned how to push through when weak or sick or injured. So had d’Artagnan, so there was no hope of tiring him before Athos gave in. The audience watched in admiring silence, the only sounds sharp exhales or low sighs. Athos had the sense that d’Artagnan had started out slow to give the old man a chance to show himself, but had quickly realised that was a mistake, and now he fought with all his skill and speed, and the pride he had to defend in front of his cadets.

Athos had no pride to lose, and less speed than skill, so the outcome was inevitable, if more delayed than he’d feared. D’Artagnan’s sword was at his throat, and Athos’s hands up in surrender. The watching cadets cheered their captain, but Athos too when d’Artagnan put his arm around his shoulder, and the two of them bowed. Athos waited until the cadets dispersed before collapsing onto a stair. D’Artagnan took his weapons and gloves, and made Athos show him his hands. “No blisters at least.”

“After that? You insult me. I’m not that frail.”

“Not at all. I imagine with one or two...week’s work, you might be acceptable.” Then d’Artagnan grinned as he easily dodged Athos’s slap. “Truly, your ‘rusty’ is equivalent to Brujon’s second best effort, no offence to you,” he added to his lieutenant who’d come over to greet Athos.

“No offence taken, captain, _monsieur_. It’s an honour to see you fight again.”

“Brujon, Athos has consented to be our tutor. When he’s recovered his breath, please select our three best cadets and let him put them through their paces.”

“Our best? Not our worst?”

“The best will teach the worst,” Athos said. “No point in wasting your time and mine on those who have yet to master the basic skills. D’Artagnan, do you intend me to teach them hand to hand as well?”

“If you wish. We can’t ask Porthos to school them any more.”

“No. I’ll do my best.”

“Brujon, fetch some water for us, please.” When they’d drunk their fill, d’Artagnan offered Athos his hand to help him stand. “I wish you’d think again about resigning your commission.”

“I explained myself. My mind is made up, d’Artagnan.”

“As you wish.” But Athos suspected it was not the last time he would have to defend his choice.

A little while later, he signalled to Brujon he was ready to begin with the cadets. Once, these three would have been dismissed out of hand, but that was before the war had taken the best men, the flower of youth. Now these, sallow-skinned and narrow-shouldered, would have to do. Athos adjusted his expectations downwards before he started. After watching them spar with Brujon, he lowered his expectations yet again. He would have to approach this as he might if he was tutoring the king—or an illiterate, poorly fed version of the king.

Maxime was the most promising, he decided after an hour or so, so he set the youth against Brujon and explained what was going on to all four of them, correcting stance and arms as he saw fit, continuing until he saw some slight improvement. Then he set Simon against Maxime, and asked Brujon to comment, then the third, Julien. He swapped them around again and again, asking them to critique each other and correcting all four as needed.

Finally he set up himself against Brujon, yelling advice and commentary as they fought. Brujon was a worthy student of d’Artagnan and nearly as good as his master, which meant Athos could beat him but it took effort. At the end Athos saluted him. “Thank you,” he said, then turned to the others. “Gentlemen, you have much to learn, I hope you now understand. Please practice your forms and we’ll take this up again tomorrow.”

“Again?” Julien asked. “How many times do we have to do this?”

“As often as it takes. You think your captain reached his standard in a day?”

“Julien, I’d been practicing the art of the sword for years before I met Athos,” d’Artagnan called from the balcony. “And on our first meeting, he bested me without breaking into a sweat.”

“We don’t have to be good with a sword to thrash the ne’er-do-wells in Paris. Give me a club any day.”

Athos looked up at d’Artagnan, who still smiled politely. “How about a pitchfork? Stable duty for a week, and learn to mind your manners. Dismissed.”

Athos climbed the stairs. “I don’t mind turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse for you, d’Artagnan. But I baulk at trying to transform the hooves.”

D’Artagnan grimaced at him. “This is what we have to work with. They can’t read, most can’t write their names, and their manners are atrocious. I can’t send them to the palace, so it’s just as well we don’t have to attend their majesties any more. Even Porthos is appalled.”

“And your other men? Those who have their commissions?”

“Little better. The best are veterans whose injuries are too severe to fight at the front, but don’t prevent patrolling. I swear, the four of us, plus Brujon and Constance, are more than equal to all the musketeers in the garrison put together.”

“I think Constance was more than enough match for at least two of us,” Athos said.

“True. We used to be the elite, Athos. It used to mean something to be a musketeer. Now we’re little better than thugs in uniforms.”

“I think perhaps you should invite the Marquis de Belgard to do some tutoring too.”

“The Marquis...oh, you mean Porthos. He’ll gut you if you call him that.”

Athos smiled sweetly. “He can certainly try.”

D’Artagnan’s laughter was genuine. “It’s so good to have you back. Now, go. You’ve earned your keep and I expect you’ll be sore tomorrow.”

“I expect so too. I hope Madame d’Artagnan keeps a good supply of the liniment Aramis used to use on us.”

“She certainly does. She’ll be home later. Today is the day she does battle at the market for us.”

Athos was glad of an early reprieve, since he already felt the effects of the day’s exertions in his legs and arms. He had enough energy to carry Sophie around on his shoulders and listen to her and Clara talk about what they had done that day and recite their alphabet. At least these two would not grow up illiterate.

The next morning, his aches had bloomed overnight, and he groaned when he heard someone banging at his door. “A moment, please.” He pulled the borrowed robe about his shoulders and opened the door.

“ _Monsieur_ , a note from the palace! And a carriage too,” Marie told him, handing over the letter.

This time it was a summons from the queen herself, telling him to get himself to the palace at his earliest convenience. “Thank you. I’ll be down shortly.”

He dressed in his leathers again, for surely whatever it was would not take all day, and he had promised the cadets another training session. He pulled his hair into a tail at the back of his neck, and thought he must either buy a respectable hat or let Constance cut his hair, if visits to the palace were to become usual.

He said goodbye to his daughter and took a piece of bread and butter with him to break his fast in the carriage. At the palace, however, he was forced to wait half an hour before a servant came to take him to the queen’s audience chamber. He found her seated on her formal chair, Aramis standing behind her. She did not look happy.

He bowed. “Your majesty.”

“Athos, what is the meaning of this note you sent yesterday?”

“The meaning?” He looked at Aramis for clarification, but his friend was of no help. “I gave an answer to the minister’s kind offer of employment, which I am unable to accept.”

“And your commission? You mean to abandon it?”

“Resign it, your majesty. Yes.”

“Why? Were you not made to feel welcome? Was your daughter not received graciously?”

Athos felt lost. What was the problem? “Your majesty was in every way kind, gracious and welcoming. I meant no insult at all.”

“Then why have you refused the position? Why are you going so far as to leave my musketeers?”

 _Ah._ “Majesty...I felt....” He looked around. “Perhaps we could talk in private?”

She signalled to her attendants to leave the room. Only Aramis remained. “There. Now speak. You have caused great offence, Athos.”

“I am deeply sorry, your majesty. I...on the position, I was greatly tempted, but a life in the palace is not what I think suits me best. Or my daughter.”

“That’s not what you said when we met,” Aramis said.

“I know. But I met someone on the way out. She claimed to be working here. Milady de Winter.”

The queen went rigid, and understanding dawned on Aramis’s face. “Ah. You weren’t supposed—”

“To see her? To meet her? How can I allow Sophie to encounter her? You know my reasons.”

“Milady is not one of my attendants, Athos. She would not trouble you.”

He bowed. “I’m sorry, your majesty. But on my last encounter with her, she threatened Sylvie’s life out of jealousy over our relationship. I fear for my child’s safety. She’s the last person I thought to see here.”

The queen pursed her lips. “She has certain uses, though I understand your disgust. But what has that to do with the commission?”

“Nothing, your majesty. I simply didn’t want to be obligated to serve you as a soldier, because I can’t abandon my daughter.”

She straightened again. “I have promised d’Artagnan that the musketeers would not be sent to the front.”

“Yes, your majesty, I know. I believe you completely. But...you won’t be regent for much longer, will you?”

“My son would not change my decree.”

He tilted his head at her. “His majesty would do whatever he felt necessary, just as you do, your majesty. I can’t serve you that way again, and so I beg to be allowed to resign honourably. I think I’ve earned that right.”

She turned to Aramis, and they exchanged thoughts in some silent way only known to themselves. “I can’t allow it, Athos. I have lost so many good people.”

“But I am always your humble servant, your majesty. One of your subjects, just as we all are.”

“But you’re _my_ musketeer. Just as d’Artagnan and Aramis are. Please. Don’t abandon me.”

Athos sighed. “As you wish, your majesty. But please don’t force me to work at the palace.”

“I won’t, but...would you be willing to come up once a week? While still working at the garrison? My son was so very excited at the prospect.”

He bowed his head. “I can’t see how that would hurt. I agree. But on that basis, perhaps in exchange I could beg the favour of the attendance of Minister Aramis once a week at the garrison, to teach the cadets the finer arts of gun and sword?”

She smiled. “I think that could be arranged, Athos. I think that would be very agreeable to the minister. But I have another request. Take up the rank of captain again. D’Artagnan asks it, and I have agreed. Not to replace him, but to work with him. He needs a captain for the recruits. Your job would be to train them, to acquire them, to do whatever is needed with them.”

He knew when he’d lost an argument. “Again, as you wish, majesty.”

“Excellent. You will receive a fee separately for your tuition of my son, in addition to your salary as a musketeer.”

“Very generous, your majesty. I do have an idea though, which also requires generosity, if I may have leave to speak of it.”

****************************

He returned to the garrison as the church bells sounded eleven o’clock. Brujon came to greet him. “Give me a few moments to speak to d’Artagnan,” Athos asked, before climbing up to the captain’s...the other captain’s...office. He found d’Artagnan and his wife looking over papers at his desk.

Athos leaned on the door frame. “I’ll give you this much, d’Artagnan. You set up the ambush quite effectively.”

D’Artagnan looked up and grinned. “You accepted?”

“Of course I bloody accepted. I could hardly turn down the queen herself. But I at least managed to snag Aramis for a day’s tutoring here at the garrison once a week, _and_ her majesty’s agreement to put prize money for a series of contests for the recruits with the purpose of making them improve by competing against each other.”

Constance clasped her hands in delight. “That’s a brilliant idea!”

“I thought so. She admitted Milady works for her, by the way. Which...disappoints me, I have to say.”

“What could the queen want with a murderer?” Constance said, before looking at the expression on the two men. “Oh. For the queen?”

“For France, I assume,” Athos said. “Assassins have their uses for monarchs, though I would rather it wasn’t this assassin and this monarch.”

“At least that means she’s not just wandering around causing mischief,” d’Artagnan said.

“It means nothing of the sort. My wife always had several strings to her bow.”

“Still, she poses no threat to you, surely? It’s been years. She could have travelled to Gascony and killed you there.”

Athos and d’Artagnan both inhaled. “Now there’s a happy thought,” Athos said. “Out of sight, out of mind. Now I’m back in Paris, she might feel it necessary to take notice of that.”

“But why? The last time you saw her—”

“She threatened Sylvie. So I have no reason to be sanguine.”

“But if anything happens to you, the queen would have her hanged.”

“Not much comfort to Sophie, though.”

“Are you really afraid of her?” d’Artagnan said.

“Not really. Only on Sophie’s behalf. We’ll have to be vigilant.”

“We always are. Milady is the least of the dangers facing us,” Constance said.

Athos straightened up. “Anyway, I’m still a musketeer, and apparently a captain again as well, so I’ll need an office and a list of the recruits. I’m going downstairs to pretend I’m still just a tutor for the sword. Her majesty has allocated a hundred and fifty livres as prize money. We should discuss how to use it in the wisest manner.”

“At home, certainly. Have fun.”

“You’re welcome to come down and allow me to best you this time.”

“Perhaps in a week. Once you’ve cleaned the rust from your sword.”

Athos lifted an eyebrow at the cheek, then went downstairs to attempt to make linen at least, if not silk, from scanty raw porcine material.

****************************

The note was delivered a week later to his office at the garrison, the forget-me-not motif making his vision swim briefly. He made himself calm down. Anne was no real threat to him, and he could protect Sophie with the assistance of d’Artagnan and his household. To tell the truth, he’d half expected this missive.

It was short, asking him to come to a fashionable address any evening after six o’clock, and signed only with a drawing of the flower. He saw no point in delaying the inevitable, so he decided to go that very night, though he took the precaution of telling d’Artagnan where he was going.

“I’m going with you.”

“No. Feel free to arrest her if I don’t return, but she won’t have you there. I’m in no danger, d’Artagnan. She’s done her worst already.”

“She hasn’t yet killed you.”

“She has no reason to. I’m not afraid of her.” D’Artagnan sought the truth in his eyes. “I’m not. We know who we are, she and I. But you’re a good friend for caring,” he said, clasping d’Artagnan’s hand. “The best friend.”

“It goes against all common sense, Athos.”

“No one’s ever accused me of being sensible before, d’Artagnan.”

His friend remained concerned, which Athos could not fault him for. But at half past five, he left the garrison and headed to the address in the note.

Just before six, he knocked at the door. A maid opened it and bid him enter. He was led to an elegant parlour, where Anne sat on a _chaise longue_ , wine carafe and dainties set on a small table beside her. Tonight she wore blue silk, always her best colour. She didn’t rise as he walked in. “I wasn’t sure you would come, Athos.”

“Why did you invite me then?” He wondered how she knew he would come that night, and realised she must have set a watch on his movements.

“Curiosity. Wine?”

“If you wish.”

“Please sit. I won’t bite you.”

He sat across from her on the little armchair, and accepted the glass. “You work for the queen, she says.”

“You enquired? You surprise me.”

“I doubt it. What do you want, Anne?”

“How did she die? Sylvie?”

“Is that any of your business?”

Her expression went cold. “I was curious whether any of your women are suffered to die of natural causes, that’s all.”

He set the glass down. “Did you bring me here to revisit old wounds?”

“Not really. Are you staying in Paris?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You can’t expect me to believe that you don’t know exactly what my plans are, where I’m staying and what I’ll be doing, Anne. Not unless you’ve completely lost your touch.”

She laughed. “I believe that was a compliment, of sorts. So you’re content to become a musketeer?”

“As content as you are to remain an assassin.”

Her lips thinned. “You forced me to it. I came back to you five years ago. You were the one who threw me away. You even tried to kill me.”

“Because you threatened the woman I loved.”

“You said you loved _me_!”

He drew in a breath. “Not any more, Anne. I moved on. I made a new life. I’m making another one now. Why do you cling to the past? Why eat the ashes of our failure instead of finding a new love?”

“I don’t want anyone else!”

“Then you’re destined to be alone for the rest of your life. I don’t want you, Anne. I’ll help you, I wish you well, and if you don’t hurt me or mine, I will not lift a finger to hurt you or assist anyone else to hurt you.”

“Not _again_ , at least,” she spat.

“That’s the rut _you_ insist on sticking in. It’s not mine. I made a terrible mistake when I sentenced you to hang. I have paid many times over for that mistake. I could have done more for you, and I will do whatever I can if you need it. But I will not be yours. Not again.”

“You think you can just walk away from me? Again?”

“I’m not with you to walk away from you. We will never be together again, Anne. You’re a beautiful, clever woman, capable of passion and love. Find someone else. God knows there are thousands of better men with better prospects. I can’t give you even what I could then. Just move on. I say that from the love I once bore you, from the regret I will always feel. Find another.”

The hand holding her glass shook so much she had to change hands to set it down. “Just like that.”

“No, not just like that. Anne, men desire you. You can draw them to you without apparent effort. I...am an irritable, fussy and uncongenial companion. If I could find another woman who could put up with me, how much more easily can you find a companion?”

She clenched her hands into fists. “I’ll never give you up, Athos!”

“Then I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry you can’t forgive what I did, the wrongs I have done you. I forgive you all you have done to me, all the times you tried to kill me or hurt those I loved. I know that came from your pain, pain I caused, and I’m sorry. But I can’t stay.” He stood. “It’s not Sophie’s fault that I feel this way. I could fuck you and enjoy it, even now. But that wouldn’t change my heart.”

“Athos.”

He walked to her, and put his hand on her hair. “Anne, please. I wish you peace. I’m not going to run. You know where I am. But we can be no more than friends. I wish we could be more than enemies.”

She looked up at him with wet eyes. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. I wish you did—it would be easier. I’m going.” He bent and kissed her head. “Try to understand that I don’t hate you either.”

He walked out, and she made no move to follow him. He exhaled with relief. He had no idea if she would listen to him or not. It was entirely his fault that she had become so embittered, but he could do no more for her than he had. Returning to her would end in tragedy, he was convinced of it. She wasn’t stupid enough not to realise the truth of what he said, and his lack of real affection would eat into her soul more than anything else he’d done.

For now, he had friends and a child, all of whom he really did love, and they were the people he needed to be with now.

****************************

Porthos arrived four days later, a month before Elodie’s child was due. He brought her with him to the garrison in a fine carriage, and helped her and Marie-Cessette down from it like he was a marquis born—which, in truth, he was. Athos put his sword in its scabbard and dismissed the cadets, then waited for his friend to walk over. “My lord,” Athos said, bowing deeply at Porthos’s approach.

“Bastard,” Porthos growled, before pulling Athos into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s so good to see you. I’m sorry about Sylvie.”

“Yes, we all are. Elodie, you’re as lovely as ever.” He kissed her hand.

“Please, Athos, beauty was never one of my charms.”

Marie-Cessette looked shyly at Athos. He knelt on one knee. “Hello. I’m an old friend of your father’s. I have a daughter a little younger than you. Would you like to meet her?” The child nodded, after looking at her mother for reassurance.

“We’re on our way to the palace, actually,” Porthos said. “Her majesty insists we stay there until the birth, so you’ll have to come calling up there.”

“Porthos!” D’Artagnan ran down the stairs. “You’re early.”

“Heard Athos was around, so I put on a turn of speed.” Porthos hugged d’Artagnan and d’Artagnan hugged Elodie, before kneeling down to talk to Marie-Cessette, taking her hands and displaying his hard-earned fatherly skills in talking to the little girl. “When do I meet Sophie?” Porthos asked.

“Now?” Athos suggested, looking at d’Artagnan. “What say you, co-captain?”

“Co-captain?” Porthos asked. “Now I need to hear what’s behind _that_.”

D’Artagnan stood. “Drive us to my house and we’ll tell you, and you can meet Sophie. Constance will be ecstatic.”

“Done.” Porthos swung Marie-Cessette into his arms. “Come on. I’ve been dying to meet Sophie for five years.”

It was a bit of a squeeze with the five of them in the carriage, but they managed. Athos couldn’t stop grinning at Porthos. The man was a sight and a half in his best armour, still tall and big, and not as battered as he could be after another five years of war. Elodie had put on a little weight, which suited her, but her tiny frame was still dwarfed by her pregnancy. It reminded Athos how big Sylvie had become at this stage in both her pregnancies, and led him down sorrowful paths again.

Elodie leaned forward and took his hand. “Sylvie was a wonderful woman.”

He swiped at his eyes. “She was. Our daughter is a gift to me.”

“Did I tell you that Porthos is going to deliver our child again?”

“No,” d’Artagnan said in disbelief.

“Why not? I got it right the first time.”

“Better him than these doctors,” Elodie said.

“Constance doesn’t trust them,” d’Artagnan said.

“Quite right,” she said. “I’ve known mothers who had a normal birth and yet still died of fever. The doctors bring it with them, I’m sure.”

This wasn’t the direction Athos wanted the conversation to go in, so he stayed quiet. Would a doctor have saved Sylvie? He had no way of knowing.

Elodie sensed his discomfort and changed the subject. “Tell us about Sophie.”

“What is there to tell? She is, of course, the most beautiful child in the world.”

“Oy,” Porthos said.

“As is yours,” Athos added peacefully. “As is Clara, and Alexandre, and as will your second child. What a question to ask of a fond father.”

Porthos sat back, grinning. “You’re right. Everyone’s kid is a miracle to their parents.”

They pulled up in front of the d’Artagnan house. Constance came out to see who had come, and yelled in delight when she spotted their general. “Porthos! You weren’t supposed to be here for days.”

“People keep saying that. I’m beginning to feel unwelcome.” But he hugged her and smiled, so Athos did not believe he was the least bit offended.

The parlour barely held so many people, but no one minded. D’Artagnan and Athos sat on the floor, leaving the chairs for Porthos in his armour and the women. Sophie, Clara and Alexandre came downstairs to meet the visitors, and Sophie was immediately drawn to their giant, and he to her. “God, she really is the image of her mother,” he breathed.

Sophie touched his brown-skinned hands, then his face. “Maman.”

“She means, you’re like her,” Athos said.

“I know. Yes, little one, brown like her.”

“Brave like her too,” Athos said quietly.

“Porthos, you haven’t seen this one since he was a baby.” Constance brought Alexandre over to him. “He’s going to be so tall.”

“This can’t be Alexandre. This boy is nearly five, surely.” Porthos lifted the child up to admire him, making Alexandre laugh.

“No, his second birthday was but a month ago.”

“They’re growing apace.”

“They grow up, we grow old,” Athos said.

“Truer words,” Porthos said, giving Athos a rueful look. He was only a couple of years younger than Athos himself, though no grey hairs adored his black curls.

“Wait until you see Aramis. He has white hairs in his beard,” d’Artagnan said.

“But I swear he’s the youngest of us all, for all he’s the oldest,” Constance said. “The man is aging backwards.”

“He’s just a big kid, that’s all,” Porthos agreed.

“Will you stay to eat?” Constance said.

“We can’t. Her majesty’s expecting us. But I think you’ll all be invited to the palace in the next couple of days, if I know my Aramis, and I do.”

“Then we should let you go,” Athos said regretfully. Five years without seeing the man, and already he was called away.

“Porthos, will you have time to spar with my cadets?” d’Artagnan asked.

“ _My_ cadets,” Athos corrected. “And will you?”

“I should have a moment here and there. Why, do you want to punish some of them?”

“A good kneading will improve the dough,” Athos said.

“They’re the salt of the earth,” Constance said.

“Mud of the earth, more like it,” d’Artagnan muttered, which made Porthos laugh.

“People used to say the same about me, and I turned out all right.”

“My friend, you are intelligent and brave and quick to learn. If I had even one cadet of your calibre, I would dance in delight. The army is taking all the good ones.”

“Then I better hurry up and win the war for France, hadn’t I? Send them all home.”

“Are you? Winning, I mean,” Athos asked.

“The Spanish are losing. Not sure if that means we’re winning but it’s a good sign.”

Even if this war was over, Porthos would still be fighting somewhere. Athos didn’t know how Elodie could bear it, but she had chosen a soldier the first time too.

They bid Porthos farewell for now but d’Artagnan extracted a firm promise for him to visit the garrison as soon and as often as possible before his _congé_ ended.

“He seems invincible,” Constance said, sighing as the carriage drew away. “And yet....”

D’Artagnan wrapped his arms around her. “No one truly is.”

“Porthos comes as close as any man could,” Athos said. “But the war has gone on too long and cost France too much.”

“Be sure to tell minister Aramis when you see him next.”

“Aramis is fully aware of it, I know. It’s Mazarin who keeps it going.” Though Athos hoped the boy king might bring it to an end when he ascended the throne in three years’ time.

“Come inside,” Constance said. “D’Artagnan, you could give Clara that sword practice you keep talking about.”

“Athos can do that.”

Athos clapped him on the shoulder. “We both can, for both our daughters. They’ll need it.”

****************************

They were all invited to lunch at the palace three days later. It was planned as a meal _en plein air_ , so the children could run around. The king came, to Athos’s surprise, and at first, held himself back from the younger children. But it wasn’t long before the three girls, all similar in age and energy, enticed him into a ball game, and he exploited his extra height to keep it from them until they all acted together. The adults laughed at the future monarch behaving so undignifiedly.

Athos could only think how much Sophie would have enjoyed a younger brother, and wondered what his son would have been like. Sinking into grief again, ee excused himself to go for a walk so his poor mood would not infect the whole party

Aramis had been lounging near the queen, next to Constance. He rose after Athos did, and followed him. “The celebration not to your liking?” he said, catching up with him.

“Yes, it is. But I have so many regrets.”

“Understandable. Is it endurable?”

Athos turned. “Is there a choice? I can hardly return to my old bad habits with a child to care for.”

“For which we’re thankful indeed. Would you ever marry again?”

“I am already married, you forget. Anne wants me back. I told her no.”

Aramis shuddered and crossed himself. “What did she say?”

“Not much. She was upset, but she didn’t fight as hard as I thought she might. I hope she’s finally learning to let go.”

“Unless she’s plotting to have you killed.”

“Again, you mean.”

“You seem remarkably calm about this.”

“She won’t do it. She no more wants me dead than I want her dead. She just has to convince herself that I won’t make her happy. Because I won’t.”

“Mazarin would probably arrange an annulment if you wished.”

“No, leave it. Her death is recorded and she can’t afford to prove me a bigamist because that exposes her to the same charge. I have no desire to wed again, in common law or otherwise. Sylvie holds too much of my heart.”

Aramis only put his hand on Athos’s shoulder, and didn’t say all the obvious or comforting things. That was the nice thing about Aramis as a friend. “Did you ever imagine us all together like this again?” He indicated the picnic and the playing children.

“I never dared to dream of it. Did you imagine fatherhood to be this way?”

“No. My dreams were quite ordinary until Isabel left after our baby died. Then I believed I would never be a father at all.”

“As did I. We’d make dreadful fortune tellers, you and I.”

“Not Porthos though. He always believed he would be a father. As did d’Artagnan. Seek and ye shall find.”

“Or don’t seek and be utterly amazed.”

Aramis laughed, the lines around his eyes crinkling in amusement. “That too. Come back to the group, Athos. You have no need to hide your sorrow. We’re your friends. We shall share it, and hopefully lighten it.”

Athos let Aramis guide him back. This moment could not last forever. Porthos had to return to the front. Elodie faced the dangers of childbirth, and all the children, even the king, faced the diseases and risks that Paris could deliver. But this golden moment could be preserved in his memory, and perhaps come to extinguish the sadder ones. And in his heart, he would imagine Sylvie with him too, beside him, as their daughter grew to womanhood with such wise, generous companions to guide her path.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to kill Sylvie but it's a historical reality that many woman and babies died in childbirth. Ironically, many more died once doctors and their dirty hands became an established feature of childbirth.
> 
> The timeline, as in the series, is utterly screwed up because Louis XIII didn't even die until after this story's setting. And Aramis was not the first minister, of course. So, history buffs, please accept my apologies for this.
> 
> The Franco-Spanish war ran from 1635-1659.
> 
> Criticisms, corrections, comments and kudos are gratefully requested!


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